Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song The Sweet Science, artist - Rasco. Album song Escape From Alcatraz, in the genre Иностранный рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 31.12.2002
Age restrictions: 18+
Record label: EMPIRE Online
Song language: English
The Sweet Science |
Here we go, here we go, here we go, get your guards up |
Knowin' we got the sweet science |
I, enter the ring |
Touchdown ready to swing |
My footwork quick hit y’all with hard licks |
I’m Cassius Clay |
Y’all niggas be the last to spray |
I’m here to whoop a niggas ass today |
So I, tighten the gloves |
The world 'bout to show me some love |
I work hard better put up your guard |
I spent time out in the yard, I’m here to train me and my squad |
My head straight baby me and my God |
Techniques obsolete, I want the crowd up on they feet |
The world champ that they couldn’t defeat |
Me and Charlie 2n, PLATOON! |
Y’all cats better give us some room |
I sidestep then I lower the boom |
You cats better call your goons |
Tonight 'cos I’ve entered the zone |
First round, put your back on the ground |
I’m the best pound for pound, you out never hearin' a sound |
Face straight now I’m spinnin' you round and round |
Yo, the ring is now a disaster scene |
As the trainers apply vaseline, I come to smash the king |
The fight game dominator, I’m bringing the drama hater the common denominator |
Respondin' to trauma greater than most' |
As my fatal fists begin, the volatile combination of leather sweat and skin |
Is slittin' yo eyebrow for spittin' this glass style |
Repetitious hittin' my mittens are hostile |
Fo' sure the Southpaw mouth star can outspar |
Competitive outlaws with delicate glass jaws |
Applause and Paparazzi flash, you can not see past |
When me and Rasco control the fiasco |
Unmask those, untalented assholes |
With fast blows to physically challenge my past foes |
We smash those degenerate weak ducks |
And I catch a heat rush from the canvas my feet touch |
I run six miles a day |
To outlast niggas, I’m top class |
Hopin' that you challenger talk trash |
You get dropped fast, baby we rock last |
You on the undercard stuck, runnin' without gas |
I stick jabs in ya abs and stay in the lab, rhymin' |
Goin' for feints and bad timin' |
It be the team that’ll shatter your spleen |
I go twelve rounds baby 'til your clock is clean |
NA MEAN |
Swift to avenge Sugar Ray |
I’m Roy Jones, to you toy clones |
Send 'em back in a brutal way |
Rush to follow, as I crush the hollow |
With the knowledge and the insight of a, Cus D’Amato |
I paint a bizarre picture to break your whole structure |
The texture of your face cracked and fractured |
You wheeze and sob, as I weave and bob |
We relieve your squad, you better believe the odds are against you |